The smile blossomed on her lips and took over her whole face, making it glow. “Okay.”
After she went into the house, I stood there for a second on the porch, scratching my head.
Holy shit—I’d asked Cheyenne to move in with me.
And it had felt good. Fucking great.
Take that, Jessalyn, I thought as I strutted back home. Fuck you, panic attacks. Sayonara, dragon.
I’d done it—I’d looked over the edge of the cliff and taken the leap. I was safely on the other side, and I was fucking fine.
As soon as I got home, I went up to Mariah’s room.
“Hey,” I said, sitting on the edge of her bed.
She was facing the other way. Giving me the silent treatment.
“You mad at me?”
“I don’t know.”
I put a hand on her back. “I’m sorry.”
She didn’t answer.
“I try my hardest to do things right, but I mess up sometimes.”
Still nothing.
“I was angry at myself and I yelled at you instead. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
Mariah rolled over and looked at me. “I just like it when she tucks me in. We talk.”
“Yeah? About what?”
“Girl stuff.”
That made me smile. “You can’t talk to me about girl stuff?”
She rolled her eyes. “No, Daddy.”
I sighed heavily. “I guess I can understand that.”
“I invited her to live with us.”
“I heard.”
“But she said no.”
“I think she was thinking about getting her own place.”
“But don’t you think it would be fun if our place was also her place?”
“As a matter of fact, I do. That’s why I asked her if she’d like to live with us.”
Mariah’s eyes went wide. “What did she say?”
“She said yes.”
A gasp. “She did?”
“Yep.”
Then a pout. “How come she said no to me but yes to you?”
I chuckled, tapping her nose. “I think she needed both of us to ask her. If I’d asked her first, she probably would have said no too.”
She squeezed the stuffed dog in her arms. “I’m so glad she said yes!”
“Me too, peanut.”
“Are you guys going to get married?”
“One thing at a time, okay?”
“Okay, but do you really love her?”
“Yes. I do.”
Mariah smiled. “I love her too. I know she isn’t my real mom, but this will be like having a bonus mom.”
My throat grew tight. “I think that’s a great way to look at it.”
Mariah glanced at the photo of Trisha on her dresser. “Cheyenne says that Mommy was nice to everyone.”
“She was.”
“I try to be nice to everyone too. I want to be like her.”
Leaning over, I kissed her forehead. “I’m the luckiest dad in the whole world. I love you, peanut.”
She looped her arms around my neck and hugged me. “I love you too.”
I went to bed feeling pretty damn pleased with myself.
* * *
That night, I had horrible nightmares.
I was trapped in the dark with an evil thing I couldn’t see except for two toxic green eyes.
I could hear it breathing. I could feel its heat. I could smell its rot. It watched me, moving closer, then retreating, but always ready to dig in its claws and tear me to shreds.
I heard Mariah’s voice. “Daddy?”
I fucking panicked—she was there somewhere in that stinking dark, and I had to protect her. But where was she? Where was she? I started to scream for her.
“Daddy!”
I woke up in a pool of sweat, my heart pounding, adrenaline pumping.
Mariah was standing at the foot of my bed. “Daddy, you’re scaring me.”
“Oh, honey. I’m sorry.” I rubbed my face. “I had a bad dream. I’m okay.”
“I heard you yelling. It woke me up.”
“I’m sorry, baby.” I checked the clock—not even two. “I’ll take you back to bed,” I said, swinging my legs over the side of the mattress.
“Okay.”
In her room, I tucked her in and kissed her forehead. She gave me a hug, but recoiled a second later. “Ew. You’re sweaty.”
“Sorry.”
She lay back. “Was it a really bad dream?”
“Yeah.”
“Was I in it?”
I hesitated. I didn’t want to scare her. “There was a monster.”
“Did he want to eat you?”
“I think maybe he did.”
“You told me monsters aren’t real.”
“They’re not.”
“But just in case, you gave me Prewitt to protect me.”
“Prewitt?”
“Yes.” She leaned over the side of her bed where several stuffed animals had fallen to the floor. “Here he is. He’s a platypus. You said monsters were only scared of one thing—platypuses.”
I had to smile. “That’s right.”
She handed me the stuffed animal. “Here. You can sleep with Prewitt tonight. He’ll protect you.”
“Thanks.” I kissed her forehead. “Go to sleep. I’ll see you in the morning.”
I took Prewitt back into my bedroom and tossed him onto the bed. Then I stripped off my sweat-soaked T-shirt and yanked on a new one before climbing under the covers again.
Fuck. What the hell? I hadn’t had a nightmare like that in years. As a kid, I’d had bad dreams about the usual stuff—a monster under the bed, a bogeyman in the closet, a shark in the lake. But I’d learned to combat the fear of something bad happening to me by always telling the truth, always doing the right thing, always standing up for people. And eventually, the nightmares had stopped.
Of course, later I learned that nothing you did could prevent bad things from happening. You could never be one hundred percent safe.
My pulse began to race again, my chest growing painfully tight. I was hot and sweaty, but chills racked my body. My breathing was quick and shallow.
I wanted to reach for my phone and call Cheyenne, ask her to come over and hold me. Let me hold her. Beg her to sleep right next to me so that I would know she was safe.
But that wouldn’t be the reason she wanted to hear. She’d probably be upset if I said that. She’d tell me I was being paranoid. She’d probably suggest I needed therapy, just like Jessalyn had.
But I wasn’t going to fucking therapy. Spilling my guts to some stranger wasn’t going to help. I would conquer this bullshit on my own, one way or another, because I wasn’t a six-year-old boy, I was a grown-ass man.
I fought it off alone, like a man should.
Twenty-Six
Cheyenne
Sunday morning, I woke up early, full of energy and spark. I jumped out of bed, put on some workout clothes, and practically skipped down to the kitchen.
My mother was drinking coffee at the table in her robe, reading her newspaper just like always.
“Morning, Mom!” I sang.
“Morning, dear. You’re up early.”
“I’m too excited to sleep.” I poured some coffee, smiling like an idiot as I recalled the way Cole had said he wanted to make it for me in the morning.
“Why?”
Turning around, I leaned back against the counter and took a breath. “Cole asked me to move in with him last night.”
“He what?” My mother’s jaw dropped, and she set her mug down.
“You heard me.” For once, I wore the smug face as I sipped my coffee.
“Well. My goodness.” Her expression was something between shock and happiness. “That was fast.”
“I said the same thing, and I asked him if he was sure, and he said yes. He said he’s too old for games and he knows what he wants.”
My mother sat up even straighter. “Really? Good for
him.”
“But Mom, I don’t want you to freak out about this. He didn’t propose.”
“But he will, don’t you think?” She cocked her head. “I mean, if you’re going to have kids, you’ll want to—”
“Oh my God, Mom! I’m not pregnant! We’re just going to live together.”
“For now.” She took the smug back as she picked up her coffee cup again.
“Okay, whatever. I just came down to grab a quick sip of coffee before I work out.”
“You work out?”
I rolled my eyes. “Yes, Mom, I work out. What do you think I bought all those yoga classes for?”
“Beats me. You only went a couple times.”
“Okay, fine, I didn’t love yoga. But I’m going to find an online workout video and maybe get on a new program. I’d like to eat healthier too. Not so much sugar and junk.”
“You picked a tough time to start that, since Christmas is on Friday,” my mother said.
“Good point.” I thought for a moment. “It’ll be my New Year’s resolution, how about that? I’m going to treat my body better. But I’m still going to work out now. I’m filled with energy!”
My mother laughed. “Glad to hear it.”
* * *
After I worked out, I took a shower and got dressed. While I was blow drying my hair, I got a text from Cole.
Cole: Good morning, beautiful. Pretty soon I’ll be able to say that instead of type it.
Me: I am still pinching myself.
Cole: So is Mariah.
I was so excited to hear about her reaction, I decided to call him.
“Hello?”
“You told her already?” I squealed.
“Yes. Last night.”
“And she was happy?”
“Ecstatic.” He yawned. “Sorry. Didn’t sleep much last night.”
I smiled. “I’m surprised I slept at all.”
He laughed a little. “Hey, is the rescue shelter open on Sundays? I was going to ask you if you’d like to go over there with me and see if there are any rescue dogs that might be a good fit for Mariah. Then maybe I can give her a picture on Christmas morning or something.”
“That’s an adorable idea, and I’d love to help! What time are you thinking? I’m pretty sure the Sunday hours are noon to five.”
“I have to wait for my mom to get back, which I think will be around three. Does that work?”
“Perfect,” I said. “I’m meeting Blair for lunch at one.”
“Just text me when you get back.”
“Okay. Hey, is it okay to tell her?”
He laughed. “Yes. Go ahead. Tell everyone.”
* * *
Blair’s jaw dropped just like my mom’s had. “He what?”
“Asked me to move in with him.” Seated across from her in a booth at the Bellamy Creek Diner, I grinned.
She grinned back. “I told you!”
I laughed. “Yes, you did.”
“And I was sort of kidding. Wow.” She blinked and shook her head. “So I guess he worked through his baggage quick, huh?”
“I guess,” I said, ignoring the tiny tremor in my belly.
The server came by to take our orders, and Blair raised an eyebrow when I ordered just a garden salad.
“I’m trying to watch what I eat,” I explained.
“Oh. Well, while I watch you eat a salad, I’m going to eat a grilled cheese and tomato sandwich with fries.”
My mouth watered at the thought of hot, gooey provolone. Thick, crispy fries. “Okay.”
When the server had gone, Blair said, “Okay, tell me everything. Leave nothing out.”
Taking a deep breath, I told her everything about the previous twenty-four hours—how we’d enjoyed the day together, how Mariah kept wanting to sit between us, how he’d walked me home after the movie and asked me to live with him right there on my front porch.
“It’s so perfect,” she gushed. “How did you even sleep last night?”
“I don’t know,” I admitted, fiddling with my napkin in my lap. “There was one thing that had me kind of worried, though.”
“What?”
“Just this weird mood shift at one point. The entire day had been so great, and then back at his house, I suddenly felt like he was on the verge of a breakdown or something. He was anxious and silent. Fidgety and sweaty and hardly able to sit still. I was listening to him breathe during the movie and I totally thought he was about to have a heart attack.”
Blair’s eyes went wide. “Seriously?”
“Yes. Then after the movie he lost his temper with Mariah, which I’ve never seen before. In fact, I don’t think I’ve seen Cole lose his temper, ever. Not in twenty-five years.”
“Really? God, Griffin loses his temper daily at something or other.”
“But Griffin has always been a hothead. Cole’s always been the cool hand, the level head.”
“Hm.” Blair sipped her iced tea. “Those symptoms you described almost sound like a panic attack. Does he ever have those?”
“I don’t know. Not that he’s told me.” I thought for a moment. “He kind of prides himself on his control, you know? On keeping calm in a crisis. Maybe it’s his police training.”
“Makes sense.” She thought for a moment. “So maybe the occasional broody silence or temper tantrum is just part of his personality that he hides from everyone else, especially on the job. Maybe showing it to you means he feels close to you. It could be a good thing.”
“Maybe. And anyway, once he walked me home, everything was fine. Better than fine.”
“Sounds like it.”
The server returned with our lunches, and I eyeballed Blair’s sandwich and fries with envy. Not that there was anything wrong with my salad, but . . .
“Would you like half my sandwich?” she asked.
“No.” Sitting up taller, I picked up my fork. “The salad is fine. I really do want to eat better.”
“Good for you.”
“And I’m feeling really strong today. Really good about myself.”
“I love that.”
“I mean, it’s still hard for me to believe I’m the one he wants, but—”
“Stop.” Blair pinned me with a look. “He wants you.”
“He wants me.” I couldn’t help smiling.
“So let’s have a toast.” Blair picked up a French fry and raised it.
Plucking one from her plate, I lifted it to hers. “To happily ever after.”
“Yes,” she said. “Amor vincit omnia.”
“What does that mean?”
She smiled. “Love conquers all.”
Twenty-Seven
Cole
During Monday’s shift, I responded to the kind of call that every police officer dreads.
An infant, just a few weeks old, had stopped breathing.
When I pulled up to the house, a woman I assumed was the mother came running out with the baby in her arms.
“She’s not breathing! She’s not breathing!” she screamed over and over again. “Help me!”
Nothing is worse than a situation where a child is in danger, but my training kicked in and I remained calm, even as my own heart was firing like a machine gun.
“Okay, let me have the baby. Let me have her.” I took the infant from the hysterical mother and assessed her quickly. The baby’s color was okay, and she was blinking at me. Her huge eyes were dark and trusting.
But she wasn’t breathing.
While continuing to soothe the frantic mother by speaking calmly, I checked the baby’s mouth and airway but saw nothing obstructing it. Then I rotated her to face down on my forearm and delivered three blows to the upper middle portion of her back. A few seconds later, she started to cry.
Part of me wanted to fall to my knees in relief, but I remained upright and stoic, holding the baby against my chest as I radioed back that the baby was breathing and crying, and the EMT had arrived.
Afterward, I wrapped up the call li
ke it was any other, accepting hugs from the grateful mother, handshakes from neighbors who’d come out to see what the trouble was, and claps on the back from colleagues at the station. I finished my shift as if nothing was amiss.
Then I went home and had a full-on panic attack, alone in my room.
What if I hadn’t gotten there in time? Or worse, what if I’d been unable to save the baby? What if I’d been too late, or so panicked I’d forgotten my training, or simply hadn’t been able to clear the obstruction? That innocent little life would have been gone on my watch.
My watch.
It was the perfect example of why you couldn’t trust the universe or God or anyone else to protect you. You were on your own. Anything and anyone could be taken from you inside a minute.
An accident. A mistake. A lightning strike. An error in judgment. A split second. A wrong choice.
There were so many ways fate could turn on you, no matter how smart or careful or good you tried to be.
After pulling myself together, I changed out of my uniform and went downstairs.
The episode with the baby had made the evening news, and footage from my cruiser’s dash cam had been released to the media. By the time I made it downstairs for supper, the phone had started ringing—townspeople calling to praise and congratulate me.
My mother was beside herself, beaming with pride, scolding me for not saying anything sooner. “Cole Mitchell! You walked right by me at the stove and went upstairs to change without telling me what you did!”
“Sorry, Mom,” I muttered. “I needed a minute.”
My daughter was impressed too, hugging me hard, playing the video online again and again. “Wow, Daddy! Can I bring you in for Show and Tell?”
“Uh, no.”
Cheyenne came rushing in the back door, practically knocking me off my feet the way she hurtled herself at me. “Why didn’t you say anything, you big jerk?” she cried. “You’re a hero!”
“I’m not. I was just doing my job,” I told her as she sobbed on my shoulder.
That night, the soundtrack of my nightmare included the sound of a child gasping for air.
Make Me Yours: The Bellamy Creek Series Page 25
